The Izumo elder, Iesada, kept his head bowed, his formal robes pooling in the dirt around him. The silence was absolute; every Akiyama villager leaned in, straining to hear the words that would decide their fate.
"Akiyama-dono," Iesada began, his voice raspy with suppressed emotion. "Your ultimatum has torn our clan in two. The fools, the hot-blooded youths loyal to our lord's son, scream for a war of revenge. They wish to wash the fields with blood." He took a shaky breath. "The wise... the wise see only ashes and ruin in that future. We have chosen wisdom. We have chosen survival."
He looked up, his old eyes meeting Takeru's calm gaze. "The Izumo clan accepts your rule."
A sigh of relief, quickly suppressed, swept through the Akiyama onlookers. Jiro, standing beside Takeru, clenched his fist.
Takeru's expression did not change. He gave a single, sharp nod, accepting the historic surrender not as a shocking victory, but as an expected outcome.
"Wisdom is a rare virtue," Takeru said, his voice carrying the cold authority of a man dictating terms, not negotiating them. "Your wisdom will be rewarded with peace. But submission must be proven. These are my terms."
The Akiyama council, who had been listening from the steps of the lord's hall, straightened. The Izumo delegation stiffened.
"First," Takeru began, "you will deliver half of your clan's swords, spears, and armor to this village. They will be brought to the pass and left for my men to collect within one week. An army without weapons cannot be tempted by foolish thoughts of rebellion."
Iesada flinched as if struck. Disarming a warrior clan was the ultimate humiliation.
"Second," Takeru continued, "ten children from your most prominent families—sons or daughters—will come to live in my household as my honored guests. They will be treated with all the dignity their station deserves, but they will ensure their families remember their oaths."
Hostages. The oldest and most effective tool for ensuring loyalty.
"Third. Two hundred of your finest warriors will be brought to me. They will swear new oaths of fealty not to the Izumo, but to the Akiyama. They will be integrated into my army, under my direct command. They will eat my rice, wear my colors, and defend my lands as their own."
This was the masterstroke. Takeru wasn't just weakening the Izumo; he was actively strengthening himself with their assets.
"Finally," Takeru said, "your clan will pay a yearly tribute of one thousand koku of rice and two hundred iron ingots, to acknowledge your status as my vassals and to contribute to the prosperity and defense of our united domain."
The terms were harsh, absolute, and designed to methodically dismantle the Izumo clan's ability to ever threaten the Akiyama again. Yet, woven within them was a promise. Takeru had not demanded their lands, nor ordered a purge of their leadership. He was offering them a place, albeit a subordinate one, in his new order.
Iesada listened to each term, his face growing paler. He saw no room for negotiation in the young lord's iron gaze. This was not a discussion; it was a dictation. Seeing his clan's future laid bare, the old man made a final, desperate gambit to secure a place for his own bloodline in this new hierarchy.
"Your terms are… clear, Akiyama-dono," Iesada said carefully. "To show the sincerity of our clan's submission, and to forge a bond between our houses that goes beyond mere oaths, I have one more offering." He bowed even lower. "I wish to offer my granddaughter, Kimi. She is sixteen, skilled in letters and the womanly arts. Her presence in your household, perhaps as a handmaiden or concubine, would serve as a permanent symbol of the joining of our peoples."
Takeru was momentarily silent. His 21st-century mind recoiled. A girl, offered up like a sack of rice to secure a political deal. It was chattel. But the strategist, the lord who now inhabited this 6th-century body, saw the move for what it was: a brilliant play. Accepting the girl would bind Iesada's influential faction directly to him. It would give him a valuable hostage and a source of intelligence from within the Izumo clan. It was a distasteful but undeniably powerful political tool.
"I accept your offering," Takeru said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Your granddaughter will be received with all the respect due to her station. Her presence here will indeed be a symbol of our new unity."
He looked at the defeated elder. "Go. See that my terms are met. I will expect the first delivery of arms and the arrival of your 'guests' within the week."
With a final, deep bow, the Izumo delegation turned and departed, their shoulders slumped in defeat but their lives and the lives of their people secured.
Jiro watched them go, his heart soaring. "You have done it, my lord!" he exclaimed in a low, awed voice. "You have conquered the Izumo without losing another man!"
Takeru watched the white truce flag disappear down the path. Conquered? No. This was just the first brick. The foundation was still soft. He thought of the new iron plow being forged, of the new system of merit he was building, and now, of a girl named Kimi whose face he had never seen.
"The price of unifying a nation, Jiro," Taker-u said, more to himself than to his retainer, "is more complicated than just land and rice."